"Jesus, Jesus, please forgive me," Nahal muttered softly as the
fan buzzed overhead. The teenager lay in the dirty hammock, her
sweat making dark rings on the thin fabric as it threatened to soak
through. Another great pain swelled within her as she placed the
damp rag over her mouth to muffle her cry.

Demetria,
the little sister, held her hand softly muttering prayers underneath
her breath. Glancing around the young girl noticed that dinner had
not been made and the floor had not been swept. She gently let go of
Nahal's drenched hand.

"I'm
sorry, I must," Demetria leaned over and whispered into her
sister's ear. She wondered if Nahal had even heard her.

Demetria
grabbed the weathered broom and began to sweep the far corner of the
room. It was hardly any use to sweep the floor free of dirt, since
that was what it mostly consisted of. The only purpose of sweeping
at all was to keep the food crumbs and scraps of cloth from piling
up. Demetria swayed her hips along with the broom as she copied the
"swish-swash" sound with her mouth.

"Swish-swash,"
She breathed lightly. A small giggle escaped her mouth before she
suddenly remembered that her sister lay in a hammock nearby in great
pain, possibly dying.

"I
am dying, Mama," Nahal had said earlier that day as she washed
dishes in the rusted sink.

"You're
not dying you miserable girl," Mama had replied. "When I was
pregnant I was made to do much harder work than you are doing now.
My futter made me plow in the fields and walk into the city to
get the milk and eggs. He wouldn't even let me take the car.
Consider yourself that lucky, at least."

Nahal
only proceeded to moan as she crouched down, heaping herself into a
pile in between the sink and the fridge. "I am dying, I
know it."

Mama
whipped the towel over Nahal's legs in a swift motion, which left a
red mark. "We're all hot. Get up you stupid girl."

After
that incident Mama left for work and Demetria watched Nahal as she
sat crumpled in a sweaty form of bronzed skin, black hair, and loose
clothing.

That
had only been a few hours earlier and now she lay in a hammock
expressing her misery.

"Jesus,
Jesus, please forgive me." She mumbled again, almost incoherently.
Demetria looked over at her once beautiful sister. She had been so
beautiful; she still was in Demetria's eyes. But instead of a
bronzed, muscular body she had now thinned out considerably save the
small bump that was her stomach. Black hair soaked with sweat draped
across her slender shoulders and small breasts. Demetria dropped the
broom to the floor and padded in her bare feet over to her sister.
Kneeling down before her Demetria saw that the dust stuck to her
knees and the soles of her feet. She didn't care.

As
quickly as Demetria began to braid Nahal long hair another great
groan escaped her mouth.

"Call
Melina," she said breathlessly, eyes still shut. Demetria nearly
tripped over herself as she rushed to their next-door neighbor, an
older woman who was known in the southern part of Texas for her
natural medical techniques and herbs. Though she moved very little
and did not travel far from her home people sought her far and wide.

It
was not long before Demetria had returned, the withered Melina in
tow. The old woman walked with a hunched back and a bag slung over
her shoulders towards Nahal.

Demetria opened the door like she was going, but then Melina turned
her back, so she slipped in between the fridge and the couch. She
could only see Melina's legs when she sat down and Nahal's body
against the cotton hammock, but she could hear. She could find out
if Nahal was really going to die.

Demetria
heard Melina ask Nahal about her baby. Nahal briefly stared at the
swirling fan, which did nothing but move around the suffocating air,
and then started to cry. Great big crocodile tears rolled down her
face. She explained to Melina that she had bought some medicine from
a girl at a club.

"She
said it would work," Nahal sighed softly placing the moist cloth
over her eyes. "If I had known it would hurt this bad I would've
never taken it."

And
then all Nahal could say was, "Jesus, Jesus, please forgive me."

Melina ground up some chamomile leaves and stirred them into hot
water. She brought the chipped clay mug to Nahal's lips.

"You should go to the hospital."

Nahal
replied that she couldn't because then the church would find out
that she had taken the medicine and it would be a disaster for that
to happen. Also she knew that in order to get treated at the
hospital you needed to have an identity card and Nahal could not find
hers. In fact, she had lost it the night she went to the club. She
deftly wondered if she had dropped it in the toilet when she was
vomiting up her Alabama Slammer. Alcohol didn't settle well in the
stomach of a pregnant woman; she knew this now.

"You'll
need strength for this," Melina explained as she grabbed a banana
out of the creel loosely hanging off the wall. She tapped the banana
against the counter.

"Not
ripe," she declared as she tossed the banana to the floor, the dirt
immediately clinging to the peel.

Demetria
crept forward as quietly as she could as grabbed the banana. She
shook her head at Melina for throwing a perfectly good piece of fruit
to the dust. She could've at least placed it back in the creel.

The
young girl tiptoed to the door and opened it, trying to make it
appear as though she had just come in.

"Mama
will be home soon."

Melina
turned her head slightly and Nahal didn't move at all. The fan
began to sputter overhead.

Demetria
couldn't tell how late it was since the shutters were closed, to
keep what was left of the cool air in. She wondered if it was time
for Roundup Cowgirl to come on. Sometimes Mama would come
home early and watch it with Demetria, eat a gyros, and prop her feet
up on the couch.

Mama
would not be propping her feet up on the couch tonight. Demetria
feared what Mama would say when she found out what Nahal had done.
Demetria thought that it was incredibly terrible for her sister to do
what she had done, but her fear and love for Nahal outweighed the
distaste she had for her actions.

At
the precise moment that Demetria turned the television on Mama came
trotting through the old, rickety door with two canvas bags full of
food. Demetria momentarily forgot about Nahal as she excitedly
skipped over to her mother and planted a kiss on the woman's worn
and weathered cheek.

"
Get off you wild girl and help me put this food away."

Demetria
quickly searched through the bags to see what food had been brought.
So much food was a rare treat. Demetria wondered what Mama had sold
to get so much money. Truly, it was not much money at all, but for
this small immigrant Greek family, it was.

"Where
is your sister?" Mama asked impatiently. Before Demetria could
say anything Mama had walked into the other room only to see Melina
hovering over Nahal.

"Melina!"
Mama exclaimed in surprise. "Why do you come to my home?"

"Nahal
called for me and Demetria brought me. She will not carry this child
out. She has ruined his chances of life and I fear that he is a boy.
I have done what I can to ease her pain, but she is in God's hands
now."

With
that, Melina shrugged her cotton shawl onto her shoulders, walked out
the house, and padded with bare feet on the dirt road.

Mama
stood in the door for a moment looking out at the desert as the sun
began to set. A dry, hot wind blew across her pulling strands of her
long, graying hair from her braid. A single tear flowed down her
hardened face as a bristled shrub whistled in front of the door.
Mama quickly shook the tear from her cheek and shut the door.

"You
ridiculous girl," she spoke to Nahal with venom dripping from her
voice. "What have you done? We take what we are given and make
better of it. You have thrown what you were given to the stench of
the dead. Do you see me being kefi? Do you see me enjoying
life? No, I work hard for you and this is how you betray me. I work
hard to bring us into this country, which is no more than a wasteland
as dry as you father was. At least Greece had trees and the ocean."

Mama
buried her face into her hands for a brief moment, before letting out
a deep-throated sigh. "Ah, I miss the ocean."

Her
head rose with dark eyes glaring. "Be done with your sin and leave
my house. I give you until tomorrow. You are no longer my daughter.
I renounce you of my blood, stranger."

Demetria
could only stare as Mama left the house. Where she went, Demetria
had no idea. But Nahal appeared as though she had heard none of
Mama's words and lay heaving on the hammock in a pool of sweat.
Her chest lifted heavily on each breath and each contraction.

"Demetria,"
she cried out softly. "Demetria, help me. Mama has abandoned me.
Take it away from me."

Demetria
was almost unsure of what she meant when she said it.
Suddenly a small fist sized shape massed in blood and tissue slid out
from between Nahal's legs. She made no sound or effort and
appeared as though dead. Demetria leaned close to Nahal's chest and
listened for breath. She heard it, however soft. Demetria then
grabbed a towel and scooped the mass up into it.

Stumbling
outside into the humid darkness she walked slowly to the street lamp
and looked down at the ball of blood between her hands. She saw for
the first time that it was indeed a baby. She stared wide eyed at
the lifeless infant. It (for she could not tell if it was a boy or a
girl) had two dime sized hands, two feet, and even two eyes, although
they were plastered shut by a gossamer piece of skin. A tiny little
mouth was there. Demetria could even make out the pale, colorless
lips. She slowly wiped away the blood and the tissue that surrounded
the child until it soon looked more like a baby than a wad of fleshy
substance.

Demetria
suddenly felt a great sadness well up inside of her as she realized
that she was holding her nephew or niece. "Oh baby," she sighed
helplessly. "To Parelthon Thimithika. I remembered the
past, where ghosts staid in their graves and mother's did not bury
their children. Where has that past gone?"

Demetria
walked under the blanket of stars that engulfed southern Texas. They
shown brightly down onto the treeless desert and the array of cactus
and small hut like houses, where the community of Hispanic, Greek,
and Asian immigrants alike came to be poor together. But as Demetria
stared into the sky at the twinkling stars, numbered by the billions,
she did not feel poor or insignificant. She felt small and
powerless, but she also felt loved and safe. She relished in the
thought that she did not have to be in control when there was a God
who spun the world on his fingertips and played cat's cradle with
the galaxies. Demetria did not know much about God, except for the
fact that He had made all things.

As
she knelt in the dust and sand by one of the tallest cacti she had
ever seen, her favorite, she dug a small hole. Thick dirt caked her
hands and dug deep under her fingernails, but she did not care. She
took the child and placed it in the hole on top of the towel.
Kneeling down she kissed the baby on its tiny forehead. She folded
the towel over its head and pushed the dirt over the small lifeless
body.

"I
would give you a name," she whispered as she patted the mound of
dirt, "but I think God has a much better one in mind for you."

Demetria
then stood up without even bothering to brush the dirt from her legs.
She looked at the little grave one last time as a small tear slipped
into the dust, unnoticed.

"Oh
Jesus. Please forgive us."

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